


The World Is Yours

by Choi Eimi (Siyah_Kedi)



Category: K-pop, NU'EST
Genre: Crazy, Dragons, F/M, Feudal Japan, Fictional, Humor, Japan, M/M, Making of a Star, Ninja, RPF, Samurai, Slightly weird, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:16:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siyah_Kedi/pseuds/Choi%20Eimi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Nu'est Boys are doing an international Season 2 of Making of a Star: Big in Japan!  While on separate, solo missions, Ren discovers a funny box with five sides and matching indents with weird shapes.  When he brings it back, the boys fight over who will look at it first, and suddenly it opens with a flash of light - sending the boys nearly six hundred years in Japan's past!</p>
<p>Stuck in the feudal era, completely alone, each boy makes his own way through the land on a mission to collect the five elemental sigils that will re-lock the box and send them back to their own time.  Ren learns the plight of a village of specially trained warriors, while Minhyun is mistaken for a foreign prince.  Baekho protects a wandering nobleman as a hired sword, and JR befriends a ronin samurai.  It's Aron, however, who has the most magical adventure, eventually coming to command a mystical army!</p>
<p>With spirits, ninja, samurai, demons, and even dragons standing in their way, the boys must overcome their differences and get back to modern Japan - before the next episode airs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mysterious Box Appears!

**Author's Note:**

> You may note that there are a lot of influences on this story. They are intentional INFLUENCES, but this is no way meant to be plagiaristic. Among the ones I can name are Inu Yasha, the Finnish movie Jade Warrior, Ronin Warriors, and Rurouni Kenshin.
> 
> "Making of a Star: Big In Japan" is, at this time, purely fictional. However, if they actually DO make season 2 in Japan, I will just chalk it up to my unpredictable precognition and enjoy it for what it is. 8D
> 
> That said, this is not my first fanfic (obviously) but it is, however, my first time attempting a RPF in general and this is my first Nu'est fic in particular. Please enjoy!
> 
> PS: It's rated Mature for future chapters. Just so you know. ^_~

Ren flopped down against the tatami mat, sighing to cover the rustle. “These Japanese are insane, making floors like this,” he complained. “If you have to pick up your bed every morning so your floor doesn’t rot, you’re doing it wrong.” 

Having been dealing with this temperament for the last week, ever since their plane touched down in Tokyo, the other four simply rolled their eyes. So much for a mood-maker. Ren was clearly unhappy in Japan, and nothing was going to change it. 

Baekho tried to take over and lighten the atmosphere. “Well, it’s only for a couple more weeks. We’ve got a new mission tomorrow; I wonder what it will be?” 

It worked. Aron jumped in with suggestions. “Maybe another mission board like the last one, where we have to find the clues. Or maybe it’ll be a hide-and-seek, like the night mission with the meat.” 

“But we’re not camping,” Minhyun interjected, a little bit stupidly obvious. Ren caught the look Aron shot him, a sort of helpless smile, but it bypassed the tallest entirely. He wondered if there was anything going on between them, and envied their easy camaraderie. He sighed again; the only good thing about being in Japan was that he wasn’t the only one who had problems with the language. Aron couldn’t speak Japanese at all, still struggling to master Korean, but JR spoke it as effortlessly as he did his native tongue. And Aron was teaching him English, as well. 

There was something about JR that sent his heart pounding, and had ever since he’d first seen them when they became Pledis trainees together, but no matter how much he thought about it, he simply couldn’t figure out _why._ It made him feel stupid, and he hated it. 

“I’m going to bed,” Ren announced, picking himself up off the floor. It was only a brief respite; used as he was to sleeping on the top bunk with Baekho right beneath him, going back to sleeping on futon mattresses on the hateful tatami was just one more thing to be miserable over. He pulled out the mattress and unfolded it before crawling beneath the covers. He really missed the bunk bed. 

*

The next morning, he awoke with one of the other members practically in his bed with him. A few minutes’ reflection revealed that it wasn’t quite as it seemed; sometime in the night he’d rolled over so that he was near the edge of the mattress, and the other member had put their mattress down so close to his that when they, too, rolled to the edge, they met nearly in the middle. Ren shifted and found himself gazing at Jonghyun’s sleeping face. His hair flopped back over his forehead and his mouth was slightly open. The sight caused Ren’s heart to flutter in his chest, and he hurriedly stood up to get away before he woke the leader up with his staring. 

Refolding the mattress with JR so close was a chore, especially since Ren was trying to be quiet so as to not wake the others, but he managed it with some effort. Carrying it back to the closet with JR, Aron, Minhyun and Baekho all in the way was another story, and he sighed and gave it up as a bad job. The mattress could stay where it was until they cleared out. 

He completed his morning ablutions and was sitting down to eat breakfast – the remains of last night’s dinner – when the camera crews arrived, ready to start filming for the mission. Ren blinked stupidly at them for a moment, then sighed, letting his head drop to the table. “They’re still sleeping,” he said. A stylist helped him get his hair in order while he ate, but he waved the makeup artist away. “I don’t need much today, I’ll do it myself.” 

She pouted, but then Minhyun was stumbling out of the bedroom, and she brightened at the sight of him. Minhyun, at least, was too nice to turn her down. Ren smothered his giggle, but it broke free when he saw the way Minhyun pleaded with Aron for help. Not for the first time, he wondered what was between them. He’d never seen anything, and they rarely went anywhere together, but. He wondered nonetheless. 

When all five of them were up, had eaten, and dressed, they piled into a van to be taken for their next mission. It was as expected; something was coming up that they needed to find and collect clues from a local park to figure out. There would also be mini-mission cards that they would need to complete for bonus points. The winner would get something special, and the losers would be punished. The usual fare, but Ren found himself warming to the game. He really did enjoy these missions. 

*

So far he’d collected one hint, three bomb cards, and one mission – incite one of the other members to hug him and pose for a selca. Baekho was the most tactile of them, and it was easy to inspire him to complete the mission. He saw something silver glinting in the sunlight and wondered if it was a clue card; they were silver-foil on the back, but even more cleverly hid than the rest. Ren hurried towards it, excited to maybe be the first one to find a clue card, but when he reached down past the bush, it revealed itself to be nothing more than a small silver box. It had five sides, each indented with a strange shape, and it was filthy, caked with dirt. Only a small portion of the original silver showed through the grime, which was what caught Ren’s attention, but he decided it was interesting. He noticed the camera and showed it off.

“Not a clue card, but a pretty box,” he said by way of explanation. A shout went up across the park; peering around a tree, he saw JR and Baekho going at it again. JR had found the clue card while Ren was distracted, and now Baekho was attempting to retrieve it from him. Ren bit his lip to keep from laughing; he loved it when the two of them got competitive. 

“Go JR!” he shouted, distracting the leader, who whipped his head around and waved, smiling broadly. This gave Baekho an opportunity to tackle him, and then they were wrestling for control of the card. Ren jogged closer, tucking the box into his bag for safe-keeping, and found Minhyun also creeping up on the two fighters. The card had been dropped in the scuffle, and Minhyun took advantage of their distraction to snag it and make a run for it. While Ren was watching Minhyun make off with JR’s prize, another glint of silver caught his eye in the sunlight. This time it actually turned out to be a clue card. It was a picture of Tokyo Tower. He showed it off to the camera, and beat a hasty retreat when Baekho and JR realised their card was missing, lest they accuse him of Minhyun’s thievery. 

The rest of the contest was fairly straightforward; a lot of tedious searching broken up by the little missions some of the cards presented. Some of them were repeats from past missions; Ren ended up with a card that directed him to receive a massage from one of the other members without coming right out and _asking_ for one, and he remembered the time JR had a similar card to complete. By the end of the afternoon he’d collected two cards, the picture of Tokyo Tower and a single word: microphone. He traded one card for one of JR’s, and saw that it was a picture of a stage. Suddenly the answer burst into his head. 

“We’re having a performance at Tokyo Tower!” 

“Correct! Ren wins; Baekho and Aron found the least cards. Ren gets 20,000 won to buy food tonight; Minhyun and JR get 15,000, and Baekho and Aron get only 10,000. That’s 13500, 1039, and 700 in yen!”

 

They pooled their winnings and treated themselves to okonomiyaki, a local specialty. When the meal was done and the boys were milling around chatting, Ren remembered the box. 

“I almost forgot,” he said, and got up. Four sets of eyes trailed after him curiously. “I found this today during the mission.” Ren reached into the bag and withdrew it. Everyone stared for a moment, and then a scuffle started.

“Let me see it,” Baekho said, making a grab. Minhyun shoved him out of the way, reaching around him, but JR got closer first. Then Aron joined the fray. Ren’s arm began tingling. 

“Ren’s my best friend, so I should see it first,” Baekho announced loftily. Minhyun snorted. 

“As if. Let me see it, Ren-ah.” 

Amused by the mini-fight, Ren held it out, willing to see them battle for the right to examine it first. All four of them lunged, making contact at the same time. The tingle in Ren’s arm turned into an inferno, and he shrieked, tried to drop it. A white light burst from the box, engulfing them. 

*

He seemed to be floating. 

That was the first thing he was aware of, and he opened his eyes with some effort. The space around him was pure white, and so bright he had to shield his stinging eyes. He waited a few seconds, wondering if it was an aftereffect of the bright light that came from the box, but it didn’t fade. It didn’t move at all. 

A terrifying thought occurred to him. _Am I… dead?_ Was this hell? Heaven? Was this all there was to being dead? He tried to shout, but no sound emerged. He clutched at his throat, and looked around again. Nothing. Pure white in every direction. 

Ren slumped as far as he was able, gravity apparently taking an unannounced vacation. _JR! Minhyun! Baekho! Aron!_

His hair flew back off his face. Ren had just enough time to frown thoughtfully at this new development, and then everything went dark around him. 

 

The next time he opened his eyes, gravity was back. So were sound and colour and all the things he was used to. He blinked a couple of times, trying to make sense of the things he was seeing. After a second, the blurred, misshapen blue-and-white collage he was looking at formed itself into a blue sky sporting white clouds. He rubbed at his eyes, but the vision failed to vanish. 

“Hey!” The sound of his own voice startled him, and he became aware that he was lying down – that would, he thought, explain why the angles looked strange – and there was a rock digging into his butt. He rolled off the rock and sat up, only to stop and stare some more. He was on a dirt path liberally strewn with rocks like the one recently assaulting his person, and on either side – in every direction, actually, as far as he could see – were rice fields. 

The sun was just rising over some distant mountains, and further along the horizon he could see the dark grey of a storm cloud working itself into a fury. Ren scrambled to his feet, looking around again. 

“Hey! JR! Minhyun! Where are you?” He paused to listen, then tried again. “Baekho! Aron!”

His only reply was the disconcertingly cheerful chirping of nearby birds. Ren covered his head and dropped into a crouch. _I’m dreaming,_ he told himself, and pinched the underside of one arm. _Just a dream._

“Oi.” 

Ren jumped. It was another voice! But unfamiliar, he thought, and glanced up. 

“Girl. What are you doing here?” 

A man holding a basket and dressed in period garb was looming over him. Ren’s mouth dropped open. The Japanese took him a moment to work through, and he shot back up. 

“I am not a girl,” he announced. His Japanese wasn’t the greatest, but he’d been learning slowly. Behind the man seemed to be an entire clan. What an elaborate set-up, Ren thought. _Maybe they’re filming a movie? But how did I get here? Where are the cameras?_

Surrounded by the strange people, Ren looked around once more and realised that he was completely alone.


	2. Wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JR meets someone who will help him on his path.

There was nothing in between – one minute he was rough-housing with the other members, and then suddenly he found himself in a forest.   
A really, really big forest. JR pushed himself to his feet and looked around, but there was nothing but trees as far as he could see. Big trees, too. “Baekho! Minhyun!” He stopped to listen, but the only thing he heard in return was birds calling, and the wind rustling through the leaves. It sounded disconcertingly like whispers, but nothing he could assign definite words to. He shivered, feeling cold. Above him somewhere, a squirrel scolded noisily. 

He tried again. “Ren! Aron-hyung!”

The echoes of his own voice were his only answer. Looking around, he saw only scrubs, low bushes, and small patches of grass. Tree roots lay across the ground like fallen streamers, and there was no discernible path. The only footprints were the ones he’d laid down himself, wandering around the small clearing he’d awoken in. With nothing better to do, he oriented himself in the direction of the sun and began walking. 

Every so often, he’d stop and look around, but the forest remained as thick as ever. The air was sharp and clear, unfamiliar enough that he could almost taste it. He became fairly good at spotting the small trails through the underbrush and was aware of every kiss of wind against his face. The small things he usually took for granted – the sounds of planes, cars, trucks, horns, people – were deafening by their absence. It was a gradual thing, but he soon became aware of something else in the air. By this time, the sun was fully behind him and sinking below the treetops, turning the forest into something darkly enchanted. He paused and sniffed, trying to identify the weirdness. 

Just as suddenly, he realised that the forest had become silent. The birds were no longer singing, calling, shrieking or screaming at one another. His own breathing sounded loud in the sudden quiet, and he made a conscious effort to stay quiet. Every footstep echoed like a gunshot as he dragged his feet through dried leaves of previous seasons, crunching and crackling like dry noodles. His stomach growled fiercely, and despite the fact that there was no one around to hear it, he blushed anyway. He could see a couple of bushes with ripe red berries growing nearby, but with no way of knowing if they were safe to eat, he passed them by with just a backwards look of longing. 

Night fell, and still the silence continued. No longer caring, tired, hungry, and aching in places he didn’t even know he had, JR was reduced to a shuffling sort of stumble in order to keep moving. He’d never crossed his own footprints, so he knew he was at least going in one direction and not circles, but without food or water he didn’t think he was going to make it much longer. When he first heard the stream he almost dismissed it as a hallucination. He’d thought he saw Ren drifting ghostlike through the trees, earlier, too, but when he ran to catch up discovered that there was nothing there. All he’d succeeded in doing was exhausting himself further. 

When the spring came into view, it was a gigantic shock. He stopped dead where he was for a long moment, staring blankly, before the thought finished percolating through his brain and his legs started moving without him. The root that caught the toe of his shoe seemed to come out of nowhere, and he suddenly found himself laid out flat on the ground, dirty and covered in who-knew-what. As he put his hands beneath him to push himself back up, JR noticed something strange in the bushes ahead of him. 

_If I didn’t know any better,_ he thought, _I’d say that was a tiny person._

It was no higher than his palm, and fully clothed. The expression of sheer terror on its face surprised him, however. “Hey, I’m not –” _going to hurt you,_ was how he meant to finish the statement, but it fled, leaving behind no sign that it was there besides the gently swaying leaves. He was in the process of deciding he’d imagined it, and considering the stream just a few metres away when the underbrush rustled again, this time sounding much larger. 

Much, much larger. Too tired to do anything besides roll himself over, JR blinked up at the monster that emerged from the bushes. “I’m really hallucinating,” he said, somewhat dully. The monster clapped its hands twice.

“Thank you for this meal,” it intoned in formal Japanese. JR blinked at the thing as it belatedly occurred to him that he was about to die. _Ren,_ he thought, pulling up every memory he could recall so that he could at least die with happiness in his heart. The monster coiled its limbs, preparing to pounce, and JR flung his hands up over his face, flinching – unable to face it at the last. 

The expected blow never fell. 

Instead, a strange voice shouted something and a breath of wind brushed past him. Surprised, JR lowered his hands to see a samurai wielding a sword driving the monster away. His mouth fell open, his muscles turning to water. Unable to move, JR simply lay on the ground limply and stared. The samurai drove his sword through the monster’s heart, not flinching even when it turned to dust and dissolved around the sword. Then he turned around and looked down at JR with an unreadable expression, most of his face hidden behind the terrifying helm. 

For the second time in his life, JR felt a tide of blackness rise up behind his eyes and draw him down. Time vanished. 

*

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a roaring fire. He flinched and squinted until his eyes adjusted, and then looked around. Drawing himself up onto his elbows, JR noticed he was lying on a pallet of blankets and – furs. Suppressing a shudder, he sat up all the way. 

“Ah, you’re awake.” 

The voice was completely unfamiliar, and spoke in heavily accented Japanese. JR squinted across the fire at the speaker. It was a young man in his early twenties, with a smiling face. He leaned around the fire and offered a bowl.

“Some stew,” he said, when JR looked reluctant. The sound of his stomach grumbling drowned out even the fire for a moment, and JR flushed. The man laughed. “Eat, it’s good.” 

“Thank you,” JR said, and accepted it. A pile of armour sat silently beside the man; he was the samurai who’d defeated the monster. “I am Kim Jonghyun,” he said, tasting carefully at the stew. It was delicious. Figuring the man wouldn’t have bothered to bring him to the campsite if he was just going to poison him over dinner, JR set to it with a vengeance. Between bites, he added “My friends know me as JR.” 

“Jei-Ah,” the man repeated. “Kim-mu Jo – Jon-yun?”

“JR,” he agreed, figuring it might be easier.

“I am Takenada Kenshin. Takenada-san or Kenshin-san will do. Finished already? You eat like a starving man.” Kenshin took the bowl back and refilled it from a pot nestled on the edge of the fire. Nearby, a horse whickered softly. “Tell me, Jei-Ah, how do you come to be in this forest? On foot, in such strange clothes?”

JR looked down at himself, suddenly realising that he was still in jeans and a tee-shirt. He shrugged, no answer readily available. “I was hoping you might know something,” he said. Kenshin shrugged right back at him. 

“I can tell you what I know, but this is not one of those many things.” He grinned, and JR found himself smiling back before the language even finished processing. 

Scraping the last of the stew out of the bowl, JR tried to decide how much he should say. Coming right out and announcing, _I’m a singer whose bandmate found something weird and when we touched it, I woke up alone_ \- while the absolute truth – sounded just a bit crazy. “I’ve lost my friends. What was that thing?”

“Oni.”

JR blinked, then frowned. “What? I don’t know that word.” 

“A demon. It is not a good time for a vacation.” The sly smile was back. JR found himself warming to the man, and not just because he’d offered food. 

“It wasn’t on purpose,” he replied. “Are you… samurai?” 

The smile vanished as if it had never existed. Kenshin averted his eyes, lips twisting. “I was. I have lost honour. I seek to gain it back by rescuing strangers from oni, as you see; the alternative is unbearable to me.” 

It was too much, too fast. JR scowled as he puzzled his way through the words, piecing the sentences together slowly. “Speak slower,” he demanded. “I don’t speak Japanese very well.” 

Kenshin’s eyebrows rose to meet his hairline, but he repeated himself one word at a time. “Where are you from, Jei-Ah, with a strange name and a strange language? And I still know nothing of your clothing.” 

“Korea,” JR said, and then switched to Korean. “Do you know this language? I want you to tell me I’m not going crazy, that something really weird is really happening to me, but I don’t know how to ask without sounding crazy. I want my friends back, and I want to know what’s going on.” He repeated his last sentence in Japanese, haltingly. 

“Your words are unfamiliar to me,” Kenshin said, but there was a wary respect in his eyes now. “Tell me what you may, and I will do the same.” 

“First, then, what is _oni_?” 

“A demon,” Kenshin repeated. “Ah, Jei-Ah, I have said it is not a good time for a vacation, have I not? The daimyo tax the peasants to their very last grain of rice, and the peasants revolt by sneak attacks in the night. Very dishonourable.” He frowned disapprovingly, but continued. “As if these things are not enough, the spirits of the world cause trouble, and the oni have come to plague us.” 

A few clues suddenly connected themselves in JR’s mind, and he gasped. “This… I… You, you may think this is crazy,” he said. “But tell me what year it is?” 

With a look like he was beginning to regret rescuing JR, Kenshin told him. For the third time, JR felt unconsciousness looming. The shock was just too much. He managed to keep from fainting by sheer force of will, but couldn’t help swaying where he sat. If he wasn’t having some kind of hugely detailed hallucination right now, he’d somehow been transported some five hundred years into the past. 

“Why do you look as though you’ve seen a ghost?” 

JR slowly raised his eyes to look at Kenshin – a real live samurai, who fought monsters out of legends. A feudal warrior from Japan’s distant past. “Because I come from the future,” he said by way of explanation.


	3. Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minhyun is taken in.

Minhyun opened his eyes slowly, pressing a hand against his throbbing head. “Aron-hyung, please turn the light off, my head hurts,” he mumbled, and flopped over. Instead of his soft, comfortable mattress – or even the less soft and comfortable futon he’d been sleeping on since coming to Kyoto – the hard stone beneath him refused to give. Minhyun winced as he realised he’d probably bruise later. 

An unfamiliar pair of feet shrouded by a colourful… dress… slid into his frame of vision. Knees appeared. “I am sorry,” the woman said in Japanese. “We couldn’t understand you. Where are you from?” 

Minhyun blinked, and pushed himself to a sitting position. A crowd of similarly dressed people – they were wearing kimono, he now realised, heavily embroidered and clearly made of silk – were milling around, staring without being too obvious about it. “Where,” he began, and then scrunched up his nose as he tried to remember the Japanese words. “Where am I?” he managed after a few false starts. 

“This is Takatori castle,” she said. “We – that is, my friends and I – we couldn’t help noticing you are… well.” She hid her face, unable to complete the statement. “Surely you are a prince in your land. How did you come to be here?” She smiled shyly. “Had you come to the front door, we would not have made you sleep on the floor.”

He shook his hands, feeling completely out of his depth. Shoving his hair out of his face with one hand, he looked around again. “A prince? I don’t know how I got here.” 

“Start with your name and where you are from.” She rose gracefully to her feet. Immediately, two servants detached themselves from the throng, one of them stopping to aid the woman and the other bent to help Minhyun. He stood up, and then realised he was looking down at the top of everyone’s heads. “Oh!”

“My name is Hwang Min Hyun,” he said. “I was born in Pusan, Korea.” 

“Korea!” The gaggle of women surrounding him burst into flurries of whispering, hiding their mouths behind fans and sleeves. The woman who’d come over to him shushed them with a furious look and a sharp gesture. She turned and looked him up and down. “No one will know of your heritage if you wear such common clothing,” she said disapprovingly. He looked down at himself, embarrassed. Since it had just been an evening in, eating with the rest of the boys, he hadn’t bothered fixing his hair or his makeup, and he belatedly realised that loose jeans and an even looser tee-shirt didn’t make a very fine first impression. He wasn’t even wearing shoes. 

“My manservant Toshio found you outside the castle walls, unconscious. Despite your attire, he knew you for the prince you surely are, and he was bringing you inside when he was suddenly called away. When he told me that a foreign prince had been accosted and left for dead outside, within shouting distance of the castle, I knew immediately that I needed to come and help you.” 

The dilemma presented itself so neatly to Minhyun that it may as well have sat itself at his feet like a dog. Was he supposed to lie, and go along with her imagined story that he was a prince? Or did he tell the truth, that he was just a teenager on tour? “Ah,” he said. “My friends, I’ve lost them. Do you have a phone or something?” A nagging weirdness had just resolved itself even as the dilemma grew; the mode of speech was outdated, as were the styles. This had to be some sort of movie set or reenactment – maybe even a movie? Whatever it was, someone would have a phone somewhere, and he should be able to call Baekho, who never went anywhere without his i-collection of iPhone, iPad, and iPod. 

“A … phone? I don’t know this word,” she said. “But come inside, highness, before the snow begins. You look in need of a bath and some clean clothes. I will not have you believe that all Japanese are inhospitable and cruel to visiting dignitaries.” She glared at the tittering women, who dispersed quickly. “We will send someone to look for your friends; perhaps Toshio will volunteer, as he was the one who allowed you to remain outside.” 

Minhyun dusted himself off ineffectually; it was more of spreading the dirt around than wiping it away. He gave it up as a bad job, and followed the woman inside. “What’s your name?”

“You speak nicely,” she said. “My name is Takatori Kayura. My husband Tatsuyo is the daimyo of this region, ruling from this castle. He commands an army of several hundred samurai from the noble families. We answer only to the shogun, and are well-provisioned here. If you lack for anything, please just ask.”

A young man not much older than Minhyun himself screeched to a halt in front of them and threw himself to the ground. “Your highness, I am so very sorry about this morning!”

Kayura smiled indulgently. “This is Toshio-kun. Toshio, you will see to Hwang-sama’s comfort; I believe he is in need of a bath, some clothing, and food.” She pronounced his name “Hu-wan” – it was cute, and he found himself bowing slightly towards Toshio. 

“Right away, mistress!” Toshio’s eyes widened when he noticed Minhyun’s bow, and then he was scrambling away, bowing and trying to point to what was apparently the bathroom. His fluster was amusing to watch, and both Minhyun and Kayura smiled watching him. 

“Madam Takatori,” Minhyun said suddenly; he’d just seen the bathroom. “You may find this bizarre, but I’d like to ask… What year is it?”

The answer set his head spinning. 

*

Ensconced in the bath, with Toshio running around like a headless chicken, Minhyun pondered the situation. Somehow, that thing Ren had brought back must have sent them into the past. It was strange, but not totally unbelievable – since here he was. 

“Toshio-san,” he said suddenly, and nearly sent the poor serving boy skidding into the wall. He reminded Minhyun of Baekho, he was so energetic, and a forlorn smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as the boy righted himself and knelt before the bath. 

“Yes, highness?”

“Once breakfast and clothes are ready, I would like some paper and – and ink.” He stumbled over the word ‘pen,’ suddenly unsure if they’d know what he meant. “As I told Lady Kayura, my friends are missing, and I need someone trustworthy to go and see if they are in any of the nearby towns.” 

“Yes, highness!” Toshio leapt to his feet, brought Minhyun some cloths he indicated could be used to dry off with, and then presented a very fine pair of hakama, yukata, and overcoat, also embroidered with silk fish. Minhyun dressed himself, to Toshio’s apparent horror, and found himself escorted to a nearby bedroom. “The lady wishes for you to sleep here, while you are a guest. It is one of the finest rooms in the house, and opens up on the courtyard here.” 

He demonstrated the sliding door, which opened onto a walkway that went around the length of the building and the avowed courtyard was just beyond it. “This is the main house of Takatori castle,” Toshio continued. “It’s not really a castle, not like some of the others. It’s a compound collection of manor houses where the nobility resides.” While they watched, snow began drifting silently into the yard. Toshio closed the door. “Breakfast!” he exclaimed, and raced from the room. Minhyun sank to the floor. 

_Can this really be my life right now?_

Well, he knew now that if he was ever called upon to act in a historical Japanese drama, he would be able to portray both a foreign prince and a spastic young servant with ease. When he looked on it as acting practice, a game, it became easier to bear. It was just like their missions for _Making of a Star;_ this time, the object was to find and rescue the other members. Breakfast was uneventful, and Toshio materialized to offer a scroll of paper, a jar of sand, an inkwell, and a brush. It was unfamiliar, but Minhyun did the best he could to draw each of the other four members, write their names out beneath them, and then, with Toshio’s help, wrote their names in Japanese as well. The sand, evidently, was to sprinkle over the ink to help it dry. 

When he was done, he handed Toshio the scroll. “Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to look for these four people. They’re my friends, and I have to find them. I need to know that nothing’s happened to them.” 

Toshio took the scroll with a solemnity that was almost comical. “Yes, highness! I accept! I will not stop until they are discovered!” He set off within the hour, and Minhyun settled in the doorway on a special kneeling cushion, watching the snow fall. 

_Oh, Aron-hyung. Where are you?_


	4. Winning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baekho participates in a contest.

Baekho blinked his eyes open, and squinted against the diffuse light. He seemed to be looking up at an overcast sky framed by weird rectangles. Rubbing his forehead, he pulled himself to a sitting position and realised that the only weird thing was his point of view – he was on his back in a grungy-looking alley. 

Expecting plastic bags and metal trashcans, with cigarette butts – and possibly a hangover, because how else would he have gotten to an _alley_ with no memory of arriving in it? – the sheer neatness of his surroundings was surprising. There were strange clothes strung out on lines between the two buildings, and some rocks. No trash. No cigarette butts. He climbed to his feet, realised he was wearing socks but not shoes, and patted his pocket down for his cell phone. 

When he didn’t find it, he assumed he’d been mugged, but he still had his wallet in the other pocket. That’s when memory kicked him in the head – he’d been texting their manager and set the phone down on a table to join the fray over …

Over that weird thing Ren had brought home. “Ren! JR!” He paused for a moment, then cupped his hands around his mouth and tried again. “Minhyun! Aron-hyung!” 

Nothing. It wasn’t totally silent, however; in the distance he could hear a roaring sound, like waves crashing – or a large group of people yelling. In the midst of it was another, slightly less familiar sound. Metal screeching against metal. Baekho hot-footed it out of the alley, and found himself in a medieval remake of Japan. This took all of about ten seconds to process, but was halted when he realised that the shouting and grating metal were the results of what may have been a duel going on at the end of the dirt path winding between buildings. 

He jostled his way into the crowd and saw two inexpert swordsmen battling. “What’s going on?”

A nearby man turned to him with a scowl. “Speak Japanese,” he demanded. Baekho repeated his question in the other language, and the man’s face brightened. “Competition,” he said, adding something else too quickly for Baekho to catch. 

A kendo competition…? 

With no idea where he was, how he’d gotten there, or where the others were, Baekho shrugged. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. “How do I join?” 

The man scowled again at being interrupted at his betting, and looked Baekho up and down. “A shrimp like you can’t win something like this,” he said disdainfully. “Do you even have a sword?” 

“Does the local smith make swords?” 

“He does,” answered a woman. She was stained up to her elbows with something black, but her face was round and friendly. “He is my father. Will you trade?” She gestured at one of his necklaces. He picked his least favourite, and offered it. “This is good for many things,” she said. “Come, food, sword. My house.” He followed her away from the crowd to the edge of the small hamlet, and what was very obviously a smithy. Smoke rose from a chimney stacked above the roof, and various farm tools were evident through the empty window. “Father! A man wishes to buy a sword, do you have one for him?” 

“Ahh, another one. This damned tourney.” An older man hobbled out, and Baekho had to concentrate on not staring; he only had one eye. When he plucked up the courage to look him in the face again, he found the man staring at him appraisingly. “You’ll do, I suppose. You look strange.” 

Baekho introduced himself, and gave as much of his story as he thought prudent. There were no cars, no cell phones, no televisions… Nothing at all to suggest that this wasn’t exactly what it appeared to be – a medieval town. A little bit of smiling at the girl, Reiko, got him his answer. He was over five hundred years in the past – somehow. 

“I think I can win this competition,” he said, while she cooked him some rice and vegetables. “I think I need to, because I have to find my friends. My brothers,” he amended. 

Reiko was sympathetic. “How did you lose them?” 

“A dark enchantment,” Baekho said dramatically, playing into the moment. “It tore us away from our home and separated us here.” She gasped in all the right places, and seemed to think he was God’s gift to Earth. _Too bad I’m not looking for a girlfriend,_ he thought. She was attentive and pretty, and put together a fairly decent meal from very little. Her father was a bear on the outside, but he clearly adored his daughter, and Baekho couldn’t help but smile as she scolded him for overworking himself and the man – fifty if he was a day – hunched his shoulders like a kicked puppy. 

He ate heartily while the smith measured sword after sword, using some sword-making sixth sense to find the right one for Baekho to use in the tournament. When he was done, the smith presented him with a simple sword – at first glance. When Baekho looked closer, he noticed how fine the edge was, how detailed the weaving on the grip, and how intricately carved the guard. It was the sheathe that truly caught his attention, however; pure black with a white tiger design imprinted into it and painted to stand out. 

“Reiko’s work,” the smith grunted. “I try to keep her from my swords, and what man will have an unfeminine girl like this? But she does pretty carvings.” 

“I sew, as well. You will need new clothes, or everyone will know how strange you are,” she announced, blushing faintly at her father and Baekho’s praise of the sword. “I have made this also; it suits you.” 

It was a wooden carving of a tiger, with just the faintest hints of white and black. It was artistically in motion; despite being wood, it almost had the appearance of snarling ferocity, curling tension in the muscles as it prepared to spring. “This is absolutely beautiful,” he told her. She blushed again. 

“In return for your stories,” she said. “Keep it with you, it will bring luck.” 

“And how did you know?” 

“About the tiger? I see it in your eyes. It suits you,” she repeated. Bemused, Baekho accepted the sword, the new clothes, and the carving. He dropped to his knees and bowed to the pair.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said formally. 

“I will pray for your success,” Reiko replied. Baekho left the smith and returned to the meeting-ground where the competition was taking place. It was beginning to break up for the day, but he found an official looking man taking names down for the next day’s trial and got the rules. 

Apparently there were two days of minor competitions; the best of all these would compete on the third day for a purse and obviously some fame. Baekho bartered a ring to buy his way into the next day’s competition. 

*

Without getting too egotistical, Baekho reflected later, he’d always known he was good. But either these peasants were truly poor swordsmen, or there was something more to Reiko’s prayers and charms, because he cut a swathe through his opponents the next day, defeating each one right after another, with little to no effort. He could have killed them many times over, but none of them were poor losers. Each conceded defeat with grace, and afterward, many approached him and asked for his secret. 

When he finally realised what it was – he had five hundred years of general experience passed down in the form of personal training for the last several years – his ego took a massive blow, but at the same time, he considered how lucky he was to have been born when he had been. And it occurred to him that if he could win the purse offered as a prize, he’d have the money to track down the rest of Nu’est and begin to find a way home. 

He still refused to give up his supposed ‘secret’, insisting instead that it was divine intervention. These people were so gullible. 

Baekho continued winning all day, until his arms felt like lead and his feet like blocks of cement. Since he still had the third day to defeat the last two days winners, he retreated as gracefully as he could to the smithy, where Reiko had prepared a pallet in the corner and a hearty meal. He fell asleep bathed in the flickering light of the smelting fire, exhausted and content.

The next morning, the trials began all over again. With Reiko and her father at his back, Baekho once again took the tiger carving into the fight with him, and immediately could see the difference in those champions he now faced versus the ones he had defeated the next day. His victories were no longer assured, and as such, each one meant more to him than the one before. Just before sunset, it was down to him and one other person. In the gloaming, the man seemed to be ten feet tall. A short break was called, and Reiko delivered food to him, taking a scandalous liberty in rubbing his shoulders. 

“They already are calling you the White Tiger,” she told him. “For your hair, and your sword, and your skill. I believe that even if you do not defeat this last man, you will be a legend for your ferocity and talent.” 

For the first time in a while, Baekho found himself without words. He smiled at her instead, and grinned wider when she blushed. 

“I am honoured to have known you, Baekho-san,” she said, carefully pronouncing his name properly. The rest of them called him Bei-ku-hoh.

Then it was time. Baekho stepped into the small cordoned-off arena, and carefully drew his sword. After that, the fight was a blur both in his memory and the spectator’s eyes. Leaps, slashes, curving cuts and overhead swings were exchanged so rapidly that often no one had any idea whose blow was whose. 

As full night fell, Baekho felt himself stumble. There was, he’d discovered, a lesser prize for the two runners-up, the largest, of course, reserved for the winner. He felt no shame in conceding defeat, for despite both being exhausted, the other man had fought incredibly well. The crowd roared its approval, honouring Baekho for his graceful concession, and the man for his spectacular win. The prizes were distributed, and Baekho retreated to the smithy to try and figure out how he was meant to find the others. 

A strange man appeared in fine clothes. “My name is Nobunori Sho, and I am looking for a fine swordsman such as yourself to aid me on my journey, if you are willing.” 

Baekho looked him over as he puzzled through the words. “A nobleman,” he guessed, and Nobunori nodded. “Very well.” 

“I can pay well,” Nobunori offered. “There are strange things on the roads these days, and it is not always safe to travel alone.” He paused. “I am staying at the inn just down the road. If you are able, we should be able to leave tomorrow. It is many days journey on foot to where I am going. And,” he added, crouching down to be eye-level with Baekho, “you have the look of a man with too much on his shoulders. Perhaps we can help one another.” 

“I am a stranger here,” Baekho said, mimicking his speech. “And I didn’t come alone. There are four others, my companions. I don’t know where they are, but I need to find them.” 

Nobunori offered his hand. “We will keep an eye out for them as we go.” 

Baekho took it. “Thank you.”


	5. Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aron has a magical adventure.

There was no gradual awakening process – one second he was asleep, and the next he was wide awake. Aron blinked, because at first he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He was in a forest – _how had he gotten there?_ – and there was a ten-pound squirrel sitting on his chest. 

“Oh, thank god,” the squirrel said. “You’re alive. We were beginning to worry about you.” 

Aron’s eyes became round as plates, and then he rolled over, dislodging the squirrel. “Okay, I’m having a weird dream. No more okonomiyaki before bed.” He covered his head with his arms and tried to go back to sleep. 

“Hey!”

_Not listening, not listening, not listening!_

“ _Hey!_ ”

_Nope, not listening. I can’t see you, you’re not there._

He didn’t hear a whispered conversation and when he peeked out from under his arms, he didn’t see the squirrel gesturing frantically to a tiny person and a frog. 

He _absolutely did **not.**_

Something jostled his arm. “Five more minutes, Minhyun,” he mumbled, and it was so weird that he’d already half-convinced himself that he was dreaming, and he was on his way back to sleep when another voice intruded. Not the squirrel. 

**“EXCUSE ME.”**

Aron jerked upright. The frog cleared its throat, and gave a little bow. Aron moaned softly. “I’m dead or I’m dreaming,” he muttered. 

The squirrel leaped up onto a fallen log. “You certainly are not,” it announced. “You’re the Chosen One!”

“Oh god.”

“Gods, actually,” the squirrel corrected. “We’re minor spirits of the forest, and you are our saviour!” 

“Do I look like Harry Potter?” 

Aron was treated to the sight of a squirrel scratching its head in confusion, and choked back a hysterical giggle. 

“What _is_ your name?”

“Aaron Kwak. Aron for short.” He rubbed his eyes, but the squirrel didn’t disappear. Aron took a deep breath and tried to convince himself he was dreaming, because there was no other way he’d even consider saying this out loud. “And uh… what’s yours?”

“Dewey.” 

Aron put his face in his hands. 

“Aron-sama! Are you injured?” The squirrel – Dewey – put a tiny paw on his knee, almost consolingly. Above, thunder rumbled through the clouds. “We must retreat to the Grove,” Dewey said anxiously. “Do you require assistance?”

Aron blinked at it. “What?”

“ **DO YOU NEED HELP?** ” the frog intoned in a voice that was much too big for its body. In a perfectly audible aside to Dewey, the frog added in a stage-whisper, “I told you the humans aren’t that smart Dewey. You really need to take them by the hand and guide them.” 

“I can hear you,” Aron said loudly. The frog jumped, bowed again, and stepped back. “What’s the Grove?”

“Hey, here’s an idea,” Dewey said. “I’ll tell you when we get there! Let’s go! Bad things come out with the storms.” It looked around nervously, as if expecting something weirder than a _huge, talking squirrel_ to come crashing through the underbrush. 

Aron lay back down. “Good night.” 

“Aron-sama!” 

Reluctantly responding to the real fear in the voice, he rolled over and looked Dewey in the eyes. “I’m not a chosen anything,” he said. “I just had something weird for dinner. I’m dreaming.” 

“You are and you’re not! How can I convince you? AHA, I know!” Dewey pounded a squirrelly fist into the other palm. “You came here with four others. We know of one not far from here.”

This caught his attention. Aron sat up abruptly. “What do you know about the others?”

A canny gleam came into Dewey’s eyes. “I’ll tell you in the Grove!” 

Giving up entirely, Aron climbed to his feet and dusted himself off. “Okay, you win. Let’s go to the grove. Whatever it is.” Then the rain started. Wet, slightly freaked out, tired, and beginning to get hungry, Aron followed the little troupe through the forest. 

*  
“The Grove” turned out to be exactly what Aron was expecting. It was a large clearing in the forest with stumps and fallen trees arranged in a seating pattern. Dewey allowed him to sit on a large rock that actually turned out to be more comfortable than he expected, seeing as how it was a rock, and took up a place on the massive stump in the center of the circle. 

Almost immediately, other creatures melted out of the forest. Frogs, more squirrels, weird looking foxes, lizards, and things he had no name for all arranged themselves on the trees and rocks. When every available seat was filled, and some of the larger creatures were standing on the outskirts, Dewey cleared his throat. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” it said, in what should have been a powerful voice but was just comically squeaky. “The Chosen One has arrived!” 

Aron found himself the center of attention as every single one of the gathered - _creatures_ \- turned in unison and looked at him. He put his hands up. “I’m not a chosen anything,” he said defensively. “I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

“You fell from above,” Dewey said. “Our legends say the One will come from Above and Deliver us from the Demons!” 

Aron blinked. Outside the grove, he could see the rain pouring through the trees, and it suddenly brought his attention to the fact that it wasn’t raining inside the grove itself. However that was possible. It also brought his attention back to himself, and although the rain was somehow kept at bay, the chill wind wasn’t. He shivered as it bit through his damp clothes. Dewey coughed.

“Apologies, Aron-sama!” it chirped. “Saito, bring food and clothes!” 

The frog – Aron _thought_ it was the same one from earlier – disappeared into the forest for a few seconds, and returned laden with the ordered items. Aron accepted the pile a little gingerly, not sure if it was safe to eat. He’d heard somewhere that you weren’t supposed to eat or drink in your dreams, but he’d never heard anything about changing clothes.

“The food is unacceptable?” Saito’s booming voice left no doubt that it was the same frog. Aron glanced up at him and was treated to the impossible sight of a frog with its – hands? Forelimbs? – on its hips, looking expectant. 

“Where did it come from?” 

“Offerings to placate the spirits – that’s us,” Dewey interjected. “Eat, change. Nothing will harm you here in the grove. You must have noticed, it is a sacred place!” 

With a silent prayer, Aron decided discretion was the better part of valour and changed his clothes. The new garments were considerably warmer than his others, and the food was good. With Aron’s needs seen to, Dewey leapt back up onto the central stump. Murmured conversations Aron was just beginning to become aware of ceased and left an almost audible silence in their wake as the gathered animals and spirits returned their attention to Dewey.

The squirrel cleared its throat, and began again. “Aron-sama, the demons – oni – are plaguing us, and the humans who surround us. Our legends speak of a Saviour who falls to earth from the sky, just as you did!”

“I’m telling you,” Aron interrupted, getting tired of this ‘saviour’ nonsense. “I’m not a chosen anything. I’m a rapper from Korea, and my friend found a weird box that brought me here.” 

Another glance went around the circle. “Saito!” Dewey barked. The frog vanished again. This time, he was gone almost a full minute. While he was gone, Dewey pinned Aron with an almost fierce look. “The _legend_ ,” it ground out between clenched teeth, “Says that our _saviour_ will fall from the sky to deliver us from evil.” 

Aron leaned forward. “And I’m telling you,” he said, just as earnestly. “I’m not a saviour. If you want help, you want to find my friend Baekho. He’s trained in kendo; he can do more than me.” 

Dewey brightened. “Baekho is the name of the swordsman who appeared in the nearby city,” it said. Aron lunged for it. 

“Baekho’s here?” 

Only superior reflexes kept Dewey from being seized and shaken like a rag doll. “He appeared there,” Dewey said, shiftily. Aron made another grab, but missed.

“So where is he? Take me to him!” 

“I cannot,” Dewey said, and Aron detected a note of genuine regret in its voice. “He was hired by a nobleman and has left for another daimyo’s territory.” 

Saito prevented Aron from doing physical harm to Dewey by choosing that moment to return with something that looked like ivory, but glittered like a faceted gemstone. “This is our holiest relic,” Saito announced, distracting Aron long enough for Dewey to retreat to the safety of a nearby tree. “This sigil has been protected by us for as long as we can remember, but we don’t know how it’s used. The only thing we know is what our legends tell us.” He handed the sigil over to Aron, who returned to the stone seat and looked it over. Something about it tickled the back of his memory.

Dewey picked up the thread of the story. “The chosen one will fall from the sky, and using the power of this sigil, will return the world to peace and harmony. Do you understand now, Aron-sama?” 

Aron took in the words with only half a mind. The rest of his attention was focused on the sigil in his hands. It came to him in a flash. “Ren’s box!” he said, startling a nearby fox. He glanced up and caught Dewey’s gaze. “This looks just like one of the spaces on the box my friend found.” His tone was slightly wondering. 

“Yes, we thought that there might be more to it than just that. You can keep it, of course. We will help you reunite with your friends as well. It may be that there are more sigils like this in the world; the only thing we know is that it will help us, and that’s what we need most right now.”

Dewey climbed down off the tree limb and scampered towards Aron, moving surprisingly quick for its size. “Aron-sama, I know you think you’re dreaming right now, but I must ask. Will you help us?” 

Aron turned his attention back to the sigil in his hands. “I don’t have a choice,” he said. “I’ll help you.”


End file.
